ANTM and Sam Puckett Science
by silent-entrance
Summary: In which Carly gives Freddie the speech which Sam's father isn't around for, and Sarah is evicted from the Top Model house. Seddie, Cam/Creddie friendship oneshot.


It had been almost two weeks since the lock-in, and Sam (Samantha _Fucking _Puckett) had kissed him. Him. Freddie Benson: Nerd Extraordinaire, as the girl in question had once ever so lovingly christened him.

And now he wasn't sure what was going on, except that Carly smiled whenever they were in the room together like she knew a secret he didn't, and Sam spent less time hitting him and more time hitting _on_ him, which was the weirdest thing ever but in a good way. Like, a really good way. Because she may be a completely bat-shit crazy demon who can eat her body weight in bacon and beat up people twice her size, but she was hot while she was doing it. Like, sort of kind of really hot. And no boy says 'no' to a sort of kind of really hot girl hitting on him, especially when he sort of kind of maybe starts hitting on her back and it's easier than he thought it would be.

Because it was easy, whatever it was that they were doing. He knew that Sam and Freddie could just sort of slip into being SamandFreddie and it wouldn't be difficult at all. He still wasn't completely sure what they were, because although she did it _less,_ the girl would still hit him a lot. Hard enough to bruise, which it usually did. But the difference was that now, she kissed it better. And suddenly Freddie didn't mind getting hit anymore. Which wasn't really something he would like to admit to anyone out loud, because it sort of sounded like he had some sick S&M fetish hidden away in the depths of his teenage-boy mind, but he honestly _didn't,_ it was just Sam and Freddie.

Sam and Freddie. He sort of liked that. He just wasn't so sure that _she_ did; because even though they'd kissed a couple times since the lock-in (four, actually. Five if you count the time they were about to when Carly walked in and threw a pillow at them, making Sam laugh and chase her down the stairs. Not that he was counting) and he now knew exactly where on the side of her neck turned her into this giggling, sighing, completely un-Sam like mess of _girl, _she still wouldn't let him hold her hand when they walked to school, and when he asked if they were going out she sort of scrunched up her nose and said 'nah.' He didn't want to be playing another one of her games.

Which is why he was standing outside the door to the Shay apartment, trying to decide if he wanted to go in or not. It wasn't an overly difficult equation; there was a half and half chance that Sam would be there. He just wasn't sure which side he wanted to win. On the one hand, his day was always, if not better, _interesting _when he saw the blonde haired girl. On the other, he needed to talk to Carly in private, having concluded that talking to Sam about this would only end in pain (his) and that if anyone knew how to understand her, it would be her best friend. He sighed, before opening the door. Either way, the smell of his mother bleaching the entire bathroom was giving him a headache.

"Hey, Freddie," Carly smiled from the couch, where she was watching television with a glass of lemonade in one hand and blonde hair in the other. _Crap._ Sam was lying next to her, curled up like a cat with her head on her lap as Carly played with her best friend's curls absentmindedly.

"Hey, girls," he replied, walking in slowly and wondering why Sam hadn't reacted to his entrance.

"Just girl," the brunette laughed. "This one won't be awake for a while."

"Did you kill her?" He asked, walking to the other side of the couch and picking Sam's jean covered legs up so he could sit down, re-placing them on his lap once he was comfortable. He didn't worry about her waking up; everyone knew that once Puckett was out, Puckett was out until she got hungry, and the empty plates on the coffee table told him he was safe. Pretending he didn't see Carly smirking, he turned towards the television, waiting for an answer.

"No, she's just tired. Said something about her about her mum and robots like, an hour ago, before she crashed."

"… Wait, what?"

"That's what I said, but she was asleep before I could get an answer."

Freddie laughed before silence fell over the two. Watching the television screen but not really taking in what he was seeing, a group of teenage girls screamed over an envelope before all chasing each other up a set of stairs.

"So…" Carly said once the show had changed to an advertisement break, turning the volume down and using that Carly-intuition which he had never figured out to know that he had more on his mind than Who Would Be America's Next Top Model. "What's up?"

"Stuff," he smiled, glancing sideways at her. Her face told him she didn't care for the game of 'Let's Pretend like Freddie's Fine.' "Sam. I just… Apparently she's _in love_ with me and sometimes I don't think she even likes me."

"Course she does, idiot," Carly snorted, plaiting a small braid in Sam's hair. "She just doesn't know how to show it."

"Are you sure?"

"Dude, are you seriously asking me if I'm sure about Sam Puckett? I'd say the 2 hour conversation we had the other night about how she thinks you deserve better than her nicely sums up the fact that yeah, she likes you."

"She said that? Seriously? Our Sam Puckett?"

"Yeah, Freddie," Carly said quietly. "You'd be surprised what you find when you get past her… Sam-ness."

"Oh."

Carly turned the television back up, fixing her eyes onto the parade of skinny girls again. Apparently, talking time was over.

"Be careful with her."

Apparently not. Her eyes were still on the television, and Freddie could tell this conversation was a different sort to the one just finished.

"I think she can sort of take care of herself there, Carls."

"That's not," she huffed, obviously irritated with him. She looked over at him, a look on her face he couldn't quite read. "That's not what I meant. She scares me. She's had enough guys walk out on her; don't make her add you to that list. Like, that whole thing with her dad, and I just… Anyway. Don't."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"She won't…" Freddie paused awkwardly, coughing slightly. "She won't have to. Add me to that list, I mean. I don't think I'm going anywhere for a while."

"Good," Carly smiled, looking back at the TV. "Oh, God, that is so typical of Tyra!"

"Wait, what?" Freddie blinked, looking around. Carly pointed to the television across from them.

"She _says_ she doesn't favourite Jasmine, but she _so_ does. Look how much better Sarah's photo was!"

"I dunno, the Jasmine girl is hotter," he responded, looking where she pointed.

"But it's not about who's hotter, it's about the photo! Besides, I think you just have a thing for blondes."

Freddie chose to ignore that, instead joining Carly in her analysis of the two photos on the screen. "No, seriously, look how much better looking she is. That Sarah girl has nothing on her."

"But she has that face in every single one of her shoots!" And as Carly went on to explain the exact science of America's Next Top Model, Freddie glanced down at the girl sleeping next to him, who hadn't stirred once the whole time he had been here, and realized that he had never noticed how _small_ she actually was. And also that he needed more guy friends, immediately.

… Gibby didn't count.


End file.
